


sang-froid perdu

by NotPersephone



Series: Count and Countess Lecter [26]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Caring Hannibal, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Pregnant Bedelia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: Bedelia watches the golden slices of brioche with a perfectly fried egg places on top, all adorned with fresh herbs. Her brow furrows; it looks very appetising and she is starving, but all the sudden it is not what she wants.





	sang-froid perdu

**Author's Note:**

> As requested, a pregnant (and very emotional) Bedelia story. Enjoy!

She wakes up suddenly, the heavy cloak of her usual slumber pulled away sharply, somehow sensing that food is being prepared. Slowly, Bedelia unravels herself from numerous pillows and notices an additional one propped behind her back, in place of her usual “support” who is missing and might be busying himself in the kitchen.

As she walks down the stairs, silk robe wrapped around her rounded figure, the smell of freshly baked bread reaches her nostrils, confirming her uncanny awareness. Bedelia is no longer surprised how acute her senses have become as she follows the scent with precision of a starving predator. A rather befitting image, she thinks, even if she isn’t moving as graceful these days.

“Good morning,” Hannibal turns away from the stove and welcomes her with a smile as she enters the kitchen, his eyes taking all of her in with adoration.

The warm, tempting aroma of baking permeates the air, making Bedelia ravenous. She has never been hungry that early in the morning, now she is always hungry, a fact that delights Hannibal to no end.

“You did not have to come down. I would have brought you breakfast,” he says and briefly abandons his preparation to walk around a counter and kiss her.

The words make Bedelia tense ever so slightly, but she leans into the caress, nonetheless.

In her fifth month, Hannibal suggested they should temporarily relocate their bedroom to the ground floor, to reduce her need for climbing the stairs. Bedelia dismissed the idea at once; she was not _gravely ill_. And she loved the space of their bedroom; her comfort was the priority, after all. Hannibal had no choice but to concede. He settled for bringing her food to bed, more frequently than before, his attempt of making her rest more. It proved not always successful.

“I am capable of walking, thank you,” she retorts and moves to settle herself on one of the high chairs as if to make her point. The endeavour proves quite difficult with her extra charge throwing her off balance. Hannibal watches her with concern but knows better than to try to help. Still, she can see him let out a held breath and relax when she is seated safely.

“Of course, you are,” he nods his head, contrite for the inappropriate suggestion.

Putting the subject to rest, he places a glass of freshly prepared juice in front of her. Bedelia spots a similar, half-empty glass on the counter next to him. Once she decided to forego all coffee in the morning, Hannibal did the same, despite her insistence that it was not necessary. He was _not_ the one pregnant. But he insisted and she was secretly grateful. The smell made her nauseous at first, and then became an upsetting reminder of all the things she will have to go without for the time being.

Now, she smiles to herself, watching him share the same drink as her. The vitamin boost will do him no harm. She savours her juice, watching as Hannibal returns to the frying pan, his back turned, offering the alluring sight of its sturdy build for her perusal. An elegant flip of the egg on the plate puts an end to his performance, regrettably too soon.

“ _Un croque madame pour madame_ ,” Hannibal sets the dish down in front of her with a flourish of a hand and an attempt of humour.

His culinary skills have found a new passion in ensuring the nourishment of her and the baby, and she has never seen him more enthusiastic.

Bedelia watches the golden slices of brioche with a perfectly fried egg places on top, all adorned with fresh herbs. Her brow furrows; it looks very appetising and she is starving, but all the sudden it is not what she wants.

“Is there something wrong?” Hannibal asks at once, noticing her displeasure, “Is the egg too runny?”

“No, it’s perfect,” Bedelia responds, feeling tears brimming in her eyes.

It is _perfect_ , as everything else has been. Hannibal has been beyond attentive, since the day they found out about the pregnancy. No matter the need, no matter the craving, he had fulfilled them all. And now he has prepared her another faultless dish and she does not want to eat it.

Bedelia fights hard to keep the tears at bay. This is a ridiculous reason to cry over, she knows it well, but the streams begin to fall down her cheeks, nonetheless. In the ongoing war between her reason and unexpected emotions, she is yet to win a battle. That realisation makes her cry even harder, tears blurring her vision. Her breathing quickens and a singular sob escapes her parted lips before she tries to stifle the sound with her hand.

“Bedelia-” Hannibal says gently, his eyes as tender as his voice, his arm already reaching out to console her.

“No,” she interrupts him immediately and fumbles to get off the chair, another troublesome task.

Hannibal moves closer to help her, but she raises her hand and he halts at once. Swallowing another sob, she finally stands on her feet and storms out of the kitchen. Or rather attempts to; despite her determined effort to exit briskly, her own body holds her back, her steps much slower than she would wish them to be. The failed strive brings more rivulets of tears, but at least Hannibal cannot see them anymore. He does not follow her, not right away at least, even if he could catch up with her in few strides, giving her time to collect herself, ever so understanding.

Bedelia feels exhausted by the time she reaches the bedroom, an emotional strain rather than a physical one, but a dull pain in her back reminds that her body is currently constrained as well. She sits down on the bed, breathing slowly, waiting for the wave of emotions to retreat, already having washed away her carefully cultivated restrain. When her tears are finally gone, she lies down on her side. It takes her a moment to make herself somehow restful with a help of supportive cushions. It frustrates her anew, bringing back the tears and Bedelia closes her eyes, trying to push them and her feelings away.

His steps are soundless as always, but she still hears him enter the bedroom, her senses acute to his presence even before her hormonal bolster. Hannibal sits down on the edge of the bed, waiting, ready to leave at her mere word. When she says nothing, he moves closer, mattress shifting as he lies down next to her. He props his back against the pillows while his hands reach to rest gently on her shoulders. She does not resist as he helps her to turn around and sit up between his legs. She exhales in relief when her back rests against his chest, their bodies still fitting so well despite her rounded frame.

“Is this comfortable?” he asks while she leans into him.

“Yes,” she utters quietly, her head tucking under his chin.

His agile fingers find their way to the small of her back, thumbs pressing gently into the base of her spine, easing the knots that have settled in her muscles. Bedelia sighs contently under his expert touch. He always knows what she needs most. They sit in silence as Hannibal continues to massage her back, lessening more than just the tension in her body.

“We still need to have breakfast,” he says softly after a moment, careful not to upset her regained calm.

Bedelia’s lips twitch at the thought of the abandoned croque and all of Hannibal’s work going to waste.

“Anything you want,” he continues, kissing her temple with tender encouragement, “Or anything she wants,” he reaches his hands around and splays them atop her taut belly.

Bedelia chuckles; she would dismiss his over eagerness, but the fact remains that she is hungry.

“ _Pain perdu_ ,” sudden craving for something sweet materialised in her mind.

“With raspberries and fresh cream?” he asks eagerly.

“Yes,” she responds, licking her lips in anticipation of the treat. And she is not the only one.

“I believe we have a consensus,” Hannibal pronounces with a smile, feeling a firm kick against his left palm.

“I am surprised she has not woken up before,” Bedelia frowns, not at the sudden movement of the baby, but her outburst which now makes her feel embarrassed.

“She understands her mama needed so time alone,” he caresses the curve of her abdomen, once again still.

“She gets that from her father,” Bedelia’s voice quivers afresh as emotions resurface, but she does not let it break, holding herself firmly with the help of his reassuring embrace.

“I hope she will get everything else from you,” Hannibal declares, planting another kiss on her temple and Bedelia chuckles anew, nestling her head against his neck, nose stroking his skin.

She is certain some of Hannibal’s sentimentality will finds its way into their daughter’s nature.

“Should we get started on the _pain perdu_?” he asks again, not forgetting about her sustenance.

“In the moment,” she sighs against his neck, savouring her current comfort of body and mind.

Hannibal continues to hold her and Bedelia feels serenity slowly taking over after the storm of emotions. She knows that no matter the struggle, he will be there to fight alongside her.


End file.
